At the sight of an ice cream stall on the roadside, I pondered for a while and went to buy one.
The moment I received the ice cream, Amelia's complaints suddenly came to mind.
"Your stomach problem is so severe. Why are you eating something cold? You're risking your life."
I took a bite, and it tasted just cloyingly sweet.
It was not delicious, even somewhat bitter.
The air also became foul.
I was about to ask the boss if the ice cream had gone bad when a couple happily ate theirs with relish.
That seemed to be my problem.
Suppressing the melancholy, I turned back home.
Upon my arrival, Amelia texted me.
[Are you home yet?]
I glanced at it but didn't reply.
Not long after, she sent another message. [We didn't enjoy the meal today because of you. Let's host them another day.]
I still didn't reply.
Perhaps Amelia had lost her patience and called me directly.
I put down my phone and ignored it.
When I got back from the shower, my phone had stopped ringing.
Before going to sleep, I habitually checked Instagram, only to unexpectedly see a post by Oscar from five minutes ago.
Amelia appeared to have hired a surrogate driver, with her and him seated in the back of the car.